Five Finger Fillet
by Noodle-licious
Summary: GerIta one-shot. Rated K for light use of language.


Germany growled at his albino brother sitting across the small table from him, hands out with a cocky smirk stamped across his face. In his right hand was a knife.

"Ha! I win again! I told you, I'm awesome at this game!" Prussia threw down the utensil and crossed his arms.

"Ja, Ja. I get it. But you were going so slowly, do it again!"

"C'mon, you haven't even done it once! It's your turn. If you wanna stay in _my _house, you should at least do something awesome."

"Fine, fine." Germany took the knife from the table and layed out his left hand. Him and Prussia had been playing a game called Five Finger Fillet, or "The knife game."

Germany began to sing, and move his right hand to stab down on the spaces in between his fingers onto the table:

"_I have all my fingers,_

_ The knife goes 'chop, chop, chop!'_

_ If I miss the spaces in between,_

_ My fingers will come off._

_ And if I hit my fingers,_

_ The blood will soon come out,_

_ But anyways I pla-"_

"Germany, what are you doing?" Being distracted by the familiar voice, he grazed his ring finger with the knife.

"GAH! _Sheiße_!"Germany quickly dropped the knife, grabbed his hand, and twisted in his chair to find a red-haired Italian man staring back with a questioning and concerned look on his face.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Italy walked up to his friend, reaching out at if to grab his hand.

"What? Nothing, why?" Germany released his bleeding hand, but crossed his arms, being sure to tuck his injured hand in the crook of his right arm.

Italy wasn't fooled. He pulled Germany's arms away from his torso, catching him off guard, successfully outdoing the stronger man. It wasn't as bad as he expected, but the blood still made him jump.

"What did you do?!" Italy dropped his hand and began rummaging through his breast pocket.

"I was… playing a game with Pr- Where did you get that?" Italy had pulled out a small stick-on bandage and was applying it to Germany's hand.

"I always carry these around, for emergencies. In case of a surprise invasion or something. You know that." He dropped his friend's hand and sat down in one of the two empty chairs in the room, pulling it and himself to the table. "How do you play?"

"Wait, you want to know how to play? Did you not just see what happened to me?"

"I just want to know how to play. No harm done there, right?"

"Oh, I'll just show you." Prussia said as he took the knife and laid his hand down. "It's called Five Finger Fillet. First you lay your hand down like this. Then, you stab between your fingers to the beat of the knife song."

"The thing that Germany was singing when I came in?"

"Ja. That thing. And, just for you-" Prussia pointed to Italy with the knife, making him jump back, "-I will demonstrate."

His hand began to move back and fourth between his thumb and the rest of his fingers:

"_I have all my fingers,_

_ The knife goes 'chop, chop, chop!'_

_ If I miss the spaces in between,_

_ My fingers will come off._

_ And if I hit my fingers,_

_ The blood will soon come out,_

_ But anyways I play this game_

_ 'Cause that's what it's all about."_

He began to speed up:

_"Oh, chop, chop, chop,_

_ Chop, chop, chop, chop,_

_ I'm picking up the speed,_

_ And if I hit my fingers then_

_ My hand will start to bleed~!"_

Prussia ended by slipping his hand away and forcing the knife into the table. "Like that."

"Seems simple enough." Italy picked up the knife and inspected it.

"Then why did he mess up?" Prussia nodded to his brother.

"He distracted me! And besides, he's not actually thinking of doing it." Germany turned to Italy. "You're not _actually_ thinking of doing it, are you?"

"Well… Can't I at least try? I do have more bandages, you know."

"Not unless you really want to." Germany squirmed in his seat.

"I'll go slow. I don't know the song, though, so can you sing it for me?"

"Fine. Okay." Germany sighed, then cleared his throat. "_I have all my fingers_…"

Italy made it through the song flawlessly. Though he did dramatically slow the tune down, Germany was impressed. He was unharmed after his first try.

"Wow, that was easier than I thought." Italy placed the knife on the table.

"Beginner's luck. I bet you couldn't do that again."

"Also, you have a nice voice." Italy interrupted

"Don't push him." Germany warned to the white-haired man, ignoring Italy's compliment.

"Are you suggesting that it _was_ just awesome luck?"

"You should sing more often." Italy was ignored again.

"More trial leaves room for more error. I don't want him to hurt himself."

"Aw, that's cute. Germany's protecting his little boyfriend!"

"No, it's not like that! It's just, if he gets hurt, _I'm _gonna be the one he whines at, like always!" A light blush dusted Germany's face. "Whatever. My turn."

"Ooh, gonna try to impress him now~?" Germany sent Prussia a death glare, signaling silence, as he was about to start.

Germany played again, going a bit quicker than Prussia, and succeeding with only a few scrapes. "Ha!"

Prussia snatched the knife away. "That's nothing! Watch _this!_" He began to move quickly, sometimes even having to contract his words to compensate for his speed:

"_I've all my fingers_

_The knife goes chop, chop, chop!_

_I miss the spaces between_

_My fingers'll come off!"_

_"And If I hi-_AHH_!"_Prussia jumped back. His index and middle finger both had deep gashes on them, along with stab mark on his thumb. Blood streamed down his hand. "Damn it!"

"Well, that wasn't very awesome." Germany teased his brother.

"Shut the hell up!" Prussia screamed at him as he ran off, blood dripping to the floor.

Germany turned to Italy, only to find a horrified look on his face. The Italian's breathing quickened, "Is he gonna be all right? Should we help him?"

"Ha!" Germany laughed, "He'll be fine. He just needs to cool his ego and get a bandage."

"Really? Is that all? 'Cause I have a bunch-"

"He'll be fine. Besides, he isn't very good at this game anyways." Germany slipped in, "I could do better."

"Really, now? Could you?" Italy rested his head on his hand and shot his friend a sarcastic glare, completely calmed down.

"J- Ja! Of course!" He now regretted his remark.

Germany picked up the knife and set down his hand, and began to sing. His pace was slower than Prussia's, but not by much. By some miracle, he finished unscathed.

"Wow!" Italy applauded. "Prussia was right! You _did_ impress me!"

Germany glared at him. "Shut up. Your turn, full speed."

Italy tensed up. "Uh… Well, I…"

"Hey," He said, pointing the knife at his friend, "Don't provoke me." And handed it to him.

"Okay… Can you sing again?"

"Why?"

"Well, I still don't know the words, and I don't know if you heard me or not, but you're good at singing."

Germany, a bit flustered, replied, "Oh, thanks. And sure, why not?"

He was nervous:

"_I- I have all my fingers,_

_ The knife goes 'chop, ch- chop, chop!'_

_ If I miss the spaces in between,_

_ My fingers will come off._

Italy's face was a look of pure concentration. Maybe he'd be alright…

_ And if I hit my fingers,_

_ The b- blood will soon come out,_

_ But anyways I play this game_

_ 'C- Cause that's what it's all about."_

Only a few scrapes were visible as the speed increased:

_"Oh, chop, chop, chop,_

_ Chop, chop, chop, chop,_

_ I'm picking up the speed,_

_ And if I hit my fingers then_

_ My hand will start to bleed!"_

Italy tried to finish the same way Prussia did, but he couldn't do it right and used both hands to put it in the table. It wasn't graceful at all, unlike Prussia.

He shook his hand, but there was no visible blood.

_I was beat by an Italian! _Germany thought to himself, _And specifically,_ this_  
Italian!_

"Germany, are you okay?" Italy cocked his head to one side, "You look kind of funny. Were you drinking before I got here?"

"What? _Nien_, no. Though, that is apart of the full song. And no, I'm not singing it for you."

"Then what's your problem?"

"Umm, nothing." The German sunk in his seat a little.

"Aww, are you still mad about being teased?"

"No!" Truthfully, he wasn't. It was about being shown up by him.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I offended you." Italy snaked his arm over Germany's shoulders and side-hugged him, "Just don't get all pissy about it, okay?"

"I'm not mad about that!" He calmed his tone down a bit and sighed, "Let's just finish our game, alright?"

"Alright! Your turn." Italy pulled out the blade and handed it to Germany.

He glared at him and began, faster than his brother. He wasn't going to let this guy beat him:

"_I have all my fingers,_

_ The knife goes 'chop, chop, chop!'_

_ If I miss the spaces in between,_

_ My fingers will come off._

Maybe this will work, maybe he could beat him:

_ And if I hit my fingers,_

_ The blood will soon come out,_

_ But anyw- _GAAH!_"_

All in one moment, Germany's heart sunk, along with the knife into the back of his left hand. The pain was intense, metal cutting into flesh and through muscle. Blood quickly appeared under his hand, escaping from the wound.

"GERMANY!" Italy gave a distressed scream for his ally, and immediately picked him up by the collar of his shirt the best he could. He slid his hand down to his friends', and pulled him along. "We need to get help- Like a hospital or something." He was talking much quicker than usual. Germany couldn't understand him as he continued talking, passing Prussia and speaking with him for a moment. Prussia looked alarmed for a second, but then gave an anxious smile as they left, as though trying to be cool about his brother going to the hospital. His own hand was wrapped in bandages.

Italy pulled Germany out of Prussia's house, and into his silver van. Originally, he only had a small red convertible, but as he began going out with friends, he found that no one had a big enough car to carry everyone, so he decided to get one.

Italy started the car and started to drive, speeding down the road at first, then calming down and slowing the car.

Germany looked around. "You know, Italy, you look like a soccer mom, driving this van."

"Germany, stop." It wasn't like him to be so serious, even in a situation like this. "This isn't the time."

"S-Sorry. You're acting weird."

"You're acting weird! You have a knife through your hand and are joking about my van!" He was reaching over to the glove box over on Germany's side of the car, and struggling to open it and stay on the road.

"Do you want help?"

"No, I got it. Wrap your hand in this." He sat back up and handed him some tissues and some string. "I know it's not much, but you can make due. We're almost there."

"I'm surprised you don't keep an ambulance worth of medical equipment here."

"Shut up."

A silence followed as Italy pulled into the parking lot for the emergency room.

"You know," Germany was pulled out of the car by his uninjured hand, "I guess this means you beat me at Five Finger Fillet."

Italy tried to be serious but smiled and even laughed a bit. "I guess it does."


End file.
